


It's always darkest before the dawn

by wolfwithwoodenteeth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Jon and Stannis are trying to take Winterfell back from the Boltons, Jon has been named King in the North, Post - A Dance With Dragons, Stannis is not happy about it, and save Arya, but he's reluctantly accepting it for now, but the odds are against them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfwithwoodenteeth/pseuds/wolfwithwoodenteeth
Summary: It's the eve before battle and sleep is eluding both kings. It's close to dawn when the news of an army approaching the camp reaches the commanders' tents.Title from a Florence song, as per usual ;)





	It's always darkest before the dawn

"Most of them were mounted knights," the scout informs them. "It was too dark to identify their banners."

Stannis is grinding his teeth, fingers clutching the edge of the make-shift table. "What is their purpose here? Friends or foes? Did the Lannisters send reinforcements?"

"We don't know that," Jon points out, clenching and unclenching his fists. They can't afford another setback. Arya needs him. They can't wait any longer, they have to strike right now.

Stannis scowls at him, as if merely being reminded of his existence annoys him.

"Perhaps we should send an envoy to find out their intentions. It's better to risk the life of one man. If he should not return..." He doesn't finish the thought, there's no need.

"I am the rightful king of the  _seven_ kingdoms," Stannis forces out through gritted teeth. "They should come to me to state their purpose here."

Jon resists the urge to roll his eyes. Stannis is usually sensible and practical, but his sensitivity about this particular matter is turning him into a petty man. He still can't swallow the Northerners' decision. Jon couldn't care less about it, even if the guilt gnaws at him sometimes. The title should have never been his, but if it makes the North follow him, if it means he can save Arya, he'll accept it.

A guard lifts the flap of the tent. "Your Grace, they've sent an emissary!"

The tallest and burliest woman Jon has ever seen enters the tent, her hair the colour of straw and just as brittle. There's a gaping gash marring one of her broad cheeks. She greets them with a small bow.

Stannis blinks. "Brienne of Tarth? You served my brother Renly..."

She squares her shoulders. "I serve another now. My lady wishes to speak to the King."

"Then her ladyship should come to me," Stannis counters.

"Pardon me, Your Grace. I should have been more specific. It's the King in the North my lady wishes to see."

One day Stannis is sure to break his teeth with all the grinding he puts them through, Jon muses. 

Brienne of Tarth turns to him. "Will you accept my lady's invitation, Your Grace? I can promise you safe conduct and a guaranteed return."

Jon regards her slowly. "And why should I trust you, my lady?"

"I am no lady, Your Grace."

He purses his lips. Her answer is a painful reminder, but it's what convinces him to follow her. 

They're still setting up camp and Jon can see three large tents in the middle of it where Brienne is leading him. In the light from the small fires which are sprouting here and there, he recognizes some of the banners, all houses from the Vale. Lysa Arryn refused to come to Robb's aid, her own kin, why would she agree to help him? He's starting to doubt his decision, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

And then he sees the man guarding the tent they're heading for. His hair is shorter and he has a thick beard now, but Jon still recognizes the Kingslayer. It was a trap, of course it was, but it's too late for him to escape now. He doesn't falter, but keeps walking, answering the man's smirk with an icy glare.

He enters the tent, which is richly furnished with furs and chests, a cot and a table. A woman is standing with her hand clutching the back of a chair, facing away from him, long auburn hair flowing down the back of her white cloak. She's very tall for a woman, though still a lot shorter than Brienne. He's always been told Lady Arryn was stout and short.

She turns around and for a moment Jon thinks he's seen a ghost, but he's wrong. Her face is longer and more youthful, her hair lighter and her frame more slender, and her eyes are soft as she takes him in. She offers him a smile so radiant he feels warmth blooming in his chest.

"Sansa?" he whispers in disbelief, her name almost foreign on his tongue.

She closes the distance between them. "It's sweet to see you again, brother."


End file.
